What Has Been Lost
by walterpotter
Summary: A governess, hair, and security. None are left.
1. Chapter 1

The brat had yelled, and that's where it all went downhill. Gothel had been alright at first- sung the song, felt the familiar reshaping and smoothing and tightening of skin, and had the scissors poised to take her own strand. Who needed the flower?

But just as she'd snipped a chunk off, it had turned brown, wilted, and left her old and undesirable again. Take the child, get it over with, her mind had screamed, but the infant was screaming, too, and there was no time. She hopped over the balcony just as her parents had rushed in to see their little miracle glowing like the fires of hell.

There had to be a way to get close to her. Rapunzel was too valuable to lose. Her own personal drop of sunlight. Four hundred years was too young to die, and Gothel was going to make sure she lived much longer.

Corona was abuzz the next day. Word had spread that the new princess had shown… extraordinary abilities during the night. Nobody knew what that meant, of course, but the appearance of a cloaked, dark-haired woman at the castle made it feel significant. Washerwomen and blacksmiths talked about it all morning. The patrolling guards attempted to discourage it, but they often got into it themselves.

Inside the castle nobody spoke. Nobody dared to breathe. The issue at hand felt more like a death sentence than an odd occurrence.

The king paced his study endlessly. The citizens would have to be kept in the dark about this. Corona was still so new; how would they react to a freak princess? Leon knew they were superstitious and paranoid. His daughter was going to have to stay hidden if he had any chance of a peaceful reign.

Queen Aurore sat in Rapunzel's nursery, looking at her sleeping child but unwilling to touch her. It had been the flower. She knew it was bad luck even as it saved her life. In the same night an intruder had tried to get her daughter and Rapunzel had exhibited strange abilities. Rapunzel scared her.

Thank God the new nurse had arrived. She was setting her room up at the moment, but she'd assured Aurore that she would be alright until she'd returned. The less time with Rapunzel, the better.

The woman had appeared early this morning- Mother Gothel, she called herself.

"You need a wetnurse, do you not?"

Aurore had been stunned at how blunt the woman had been- and how clearly she'd read the queen's mind. "I, um, yes, I do. Are you attempting to apply for the position?"

"I am intending to receive it. You'll find that I'm more than qualified. Now, living arrangements. I expect a room next to the baby's, joined by a door if possible. I will not require any pay, but I will need meals. As the child grows I will provide her education- the basic sciences, mathematics, literacy, and if you would like, royal manners."

Who was Aurore to disagree? Leon had told her to keep Rapunzel quiet. An advertisement could not be put out for a nurse. Gothel was a godsend.

"There's actually an entire wing I could set aside for you. A kitchen, fully stocked, complete bathroom, bedroom suite, and rooms for Rapunzel. We want full protection for her, so we would prefer that you agree to stay within the castle until we dismiss your services."

Gothel had smiled strangely then. "I doubt you will want to dismiss me, Your Highness. You will find I am invaluable."

That night, as the king and queen slept on the other side of the castle, Gothel rocked the baby. "Everything is working out fine, you know," she murmured as she swayed. The incantation had worked to put the child to sleep, and now Gothel was admiring herself in the mirror.

She disliked the look of a baby in her arms, but it was going to work, for now. Security was too tight to allow for a getaway, but the king and queen need never see them. Gothel was free to use Rapunzel as she liked, shape her into whatever she needed. By the time the girl had come of age, Gothel could convince her to run away. After that, it was an eternity of youthful looks, gentleman callers, and her drop of sunlight.

Yes, Gothel would pay her dues for a few years. It would all pay off later. "Congratulations," she murmured, patting the sleeping infant's thick hair. "Soon you'll be the lost princess."


	2. Chapter 2

Paint cracked and flaked off Rapunzel's hands as she rubbed her eyes. Through the dim early-morning light, she saw the calendar painted above her bed showing that today was the day. The day.

Lugging her hair around behind her, Rapunzel rolled off her mattress and dashed across the hall to the bathroom. A bowl of water, lukewarm from a night of standing still, sat under a mirror. She began scrubbing at the paint splotches while looking in the glass in front of her.

"Big day, Punz. You're sixteen. Gonna have to meet the King and Queen again. Have to try and make them feel like their daughter… isn't… a freak," she reminded herself, rubbing hard at the paint. Maybe she shouldn't have stayed up painting so long.

Not like she could help it, though. The yearly visit of her parents (though it felt odd referring to them as such) was uncomfortable and judgmental, every year, without fail. Corona's king and queen were, as Gothel always said, far better at raising their kingdom than their child. The terror they'd first felt at Rapunzel's… power had never gone away. Nowadays they took it out on her, staying far away unless absolutely necessary. They proved to be very good at avoiding her, too; she'd last seen them on her fifteenth birthday.

It was stressful seeing her estranged parents only to make sure she was coming up straight and royal, and painting was the only way to stop fretting about it.

She was paying for it now, though. Clutching the post at the bottom of her bed, Rapunzel endured breath-stealing, ribcage-crushing pain as Mother Gothel tightened her corset. "Now remember, Rapunzel, that you need only interact with your parents for a few hours, present yourself to the public, and then return here. I know it's awful, flower, I do," she conceded, patting Rapunzel's head, "but you only have to do it three more times until you and I can go far away from here." Gothel was always saying stuff like that- taking a trip, leaving Corona, things like that.

It did sound kind of nice, considering how irrelevant Rapunzel felt here. Gothel had told her about how scared her parents were of her as a child, how they hadn't even begun to visit her until she was six. Rapunzel's only playmate or friend was Gothel herself. "Where would we go?" Rapunzel asked, indulging Gothel's little fantasy.

Gothel stroked her head as she pulled Rapunzel's golden strands into a complicated plait. "I know just the place. A big, tall, secluded tower in the middle of a bright, green clearing. Just out of the way, so that nobody except us could find it. And there would be a nice, big space so you could do that messy… painting thing you do without ever having to leave. Doesn't that sound great? You would even be able to continue going about barefoot. Much less chance of looking like a naive fool when it's only us." Rapunzel brushed off the jab with little effort, used to the type of comment.

"Okay, now just… stand… still…" Gothel situated Rapunzel in front of the oak doors and patted down her dress. Fixed her hands, making them seem more delicate. Slipped a part of her braid forward, adjusted the cap of her right sleeve. "That's enough, I hope."

Gothel hoped, Rapunzel hoped. They stiffened in unison as the lock on the other side jiggled. It was time.

The King and Queen of Corona stepped regally into the wing's foyer. A guard held up a too-formal scroll, announcing: "King Leon and Queen Aurore of the Free Kingdom of Corona!" Yes, yes, get on with it, Rapunzel grumbled inwardly. She didn't feel up to genuflecting to her beautiful, wonderful, perfect parents. The kingdom did that enough in a day to last a lifetime.

Aurore strode cautiously towards her teenaged heir.

"Hello, Rapunzel. How has your year been?"

"Wonderful… Mother."

"Gothel. Has she been vigilant in her studies?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Absolutely stellar," Gothel replied rigidly. Something sparked dangerously behind her eyes, but only Rapunzel, fine-tuned to her moods and tempers, would have noticed it.

"I, ah. Uh. Good. Excellent."

Stiffly Rapunzel embraced her mother and father before letting them lead her to the balcony outside. Corona waited below, excited to see their teenaged princess. "Hide the braid as best you can, dear," Gothel murmured before shoving her out above the crowd.

It was pandemonium in seconds. The crowd screamed their opinions and approvals: "Why is her dress pink?" "Where's her tiara?" "Why don't you come out more, Princess?" "We've missed you!" "You look so grown up!" Rapunzel tightened her trembling fists against her silk dress and flashed a rigid but winning smile. The faster she could satiate the masses, the faster she could be back inside, safe and quiet.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. Rapunzel had matured very quickly over the past year, and that did not sit well with her people.

"That can't be the princess!"

"What have you done with Rapunzel?"

"That's a replacement!"

The crowd surged forward; a few climbed the ivy-dotted walls. Rapunzel's parents had not expected this. With a shriek, Aurore ran from the balcony, and Leon pursued her frustratedly. Rapunzel decided to stand her ground. "I am Princess Rapunzel, I am! Why won't you just listen?" She covered her eyes with her hands, shaking.

An angry civilian reached the balcony and hopped over. Before she could run away, he had grabbed hold of the end of Rapunzel's braid. "This damn hair!" she sobbed angrily, more to herself than to him.

"Let's see if it truly is our princess!" The adrenaline was making him cocky; he held a glistening knife up to Rapunzel's neck. Guards ran out, but not before he slashed Rapunzel's braid clean off.

Rapunzel watched as her hands appeared to turn paler with the absence of her golden hair. As the heavy braid fell to the ground with a whump, Rapunzel somehow felt her hair darken.

God, no. Just what she'd feared- Rapunzel heard Gothel screech from just inside the room as her skin unhooked itself from her tight, lovely cheeks, lumping, rolling, sagging. The last she saw of her only friend was her hair graying until it shone like the deepest part of a candle and her skin like the outside.

Her last words? Directed at the child she'd singlehandedly raised, shaped and cared for for sixteen years. "You bitch!"

It was time to go, Rapunzel knew. The plan was going to be set into action- right now.


	3. Chapter 3

It had always been packed, the satchel, just as a precaution. Gothel had given her an impressive array of books illustrating the demise of some kingdom or other, and being the paranoid freak she was, Rapunzel had taken her own measures. Still, it wasn't a great way to live; all the things she found most important were in there. She made do with what she had out and kept the satchel hidden until that day when it proved useful or useless.

Rapunzel got the feeling she was a bird perched on the outermost branch of a tree; comfortable enough, maybe, but always ready to flit away if she heard a twig snap.

The twig had snapped. Corona was a superstitious kingdom, and hair turning brown (the color of dead leaves, she thought) would certainly set them off. Already she heard the crowd: rumbling, rioting, unrested. They wanted a logical, easy-on-their-mind explanation, now.

Rapunzel wondered who would give it to them as she slung on a sturdy pair of boots over her just-applied leggings. Slipping a loose, camouflaging tunic over her head, she checked the mirror. She certainly didn't look like the princess anymore. Her ceremonial tiara was lying on the crisply made bed, looking like a glistening pile of broken knives.

It was only adrenaline that was making her so figurative today, she reasoned. Normally she would have only been thinking of her posture. _Get over it_, Rapunzel berated herself. _Necessary medicine, for you and them. Time to go._

Only one last look was necessary; the room had been the same for so long that Rapunzel doubted she'd ever forget what it looked like. It would last the rest of her life, though. She let her eyes dwell on a long, sweeping gaze, taking in the little stool she'd sat on to sing for Gothel for all these years, the mirror set at Gothel's eye level, the nubs of candles she'd burned to quicks. Her room was lonely and all she'd ever known. Rapunzel laughed, perhaps a little bitterly, at what that said for her.

Before running out to the kitchen, the only room in the wing facing the town-side of the castle, Rapunzel checked her reflection. Her eyes were much more defined now that they weren't dwarfed by her enormous hair. The hair. Rapunzel wondered what would become of it; it would be difficult to dispose of. She knew how heavy it was.

On the bright side, you would have to be looking for a doppelganger to recognize Rapunzel for herself. The trick now would just be getting out of town without seeming suspicious.

The runaway thought quickly. Had she packed a weapon? She didn't think so. Might as well make do, she decided, pulling the first thing she could find- a frying pan- off the wall and nestling it tightly into the bag.

Hopping out a high-set window (and holding her breath, terrified, the whole way down), Rapunzel left a regimen of fear and expectations behind, swapping it for an undetermined future.

…

_It won't be that bad, eh?_ Rapunzel conversed with herself as she adjusted the strap of her heavy bag and padded silently across the sixth or seventh dirt path of the day. The boots had proven to be an excellent decision; their leather was supple and bounced back with each nerve-tightened step. Without them, Rapunzel figured she wouldn't have even lasted past lunch before losing her nerve and turning back. The sun was just setting, marking what would probably be the end of her sojourn for the day. No need to waste all her energies at once.

Corona was well behind her, and carriages were far less frequent than they had been just two, three hours ago. It was genuine wilderness out here now. There was probably no hope for any return- not that she wanted to go back, nor that a passerby would trust a petite teenager with a scrubby haircut and an oversized tunic.

How far she'd gone, she wasn't sure. Never in her life had she been outside the castle; Rapunzel wasn't sure if she'd even covered all the grounds. She figured it was more than two miles, but past that she didn't know.

Her lack of knowledge could prove to be dangerous. Already Rapunzel had slipped and fallen down a hill, had a mild run-in with a feisty raccoon, and, worst of all, accidentally dumped out the contents of her cantine. She would need water soon, and the oats in her bag wouldn't last long.

Just a bit further, she prodded. Continue on till the sun went down, that's what she would do, and then hunker down wherever she was when she couldn't see. It would work, so long as her depleted eyesight didn't interfere with the trek.

…

Sunlight left swiftly and completely, within half an hour, by the princess's reckoning. Finding herself by a hollowed-out rock formation, she sat down cross-legged just inside its entrance- how funny, she realized! The first time in months she'd sat down cross-legged!- and opened up the satchel. She needed to take inventory before she went on tomorrow.

A huge bag of grains and oats was first out. Rapunzel was pleased to see that she hadn't depleted it too badly. Then a book of matches, two or three candles, a few sticks of charcoal, a sketchbook, some bandages, and the pan. It wasn't substantial, she realized, but it would do until she could find some extra supplies, a river, a village out of the way.

She stuffed the objects back in the satchel and stuffed it into one of the deeper crevices. It occurred to her that she hadn't checked the other side of the formation. As luck would have it, it was covered by a curtain of green leaves. Moonlight struck it in patches, illuminating veins and poking through ant-chewed holes. Rapunzel's curiosity was getting the best of her. She sighed and lifted the satchel back onto her shoulder; no way would she leave it behind.

Pushing aside the greenery, Rapunzel took in the moonlit scene, as vibrant and perfect as if it was torn from a nursery rhyme. A green, green meadow, a babbling blue stream, and a pale white tower.

…

**Hey! I can't believe so many of you have taken the time to read WHBL so far (it might not seem like a lot to you, but I never expected this!)! That's crazy! I just started this to hash out an idea and thought it would never be seen by anyone. I promise to keep posting as frequently as I can, okay? Thank you so much!**

**-Hannah**


	4. Chapter 4

Rapunzel groaned. This tower could change things, deep, important, character-shaping things, and she didn't really have the energy for that right now. Right now all the princess wanted to do was sleep.

So sleep she would, until she was rested enough to sift through her shattered psychosis and pull out a logical explanation. Trudging back to the stone passage, Rapunzel slammed her satchel into a crevice and laid down in a tight ball. Sleep, in her experience, had done well to resolve these kinds of issues.

…

It wasn't working. The tower was tearing her up. Rapunzel laid awake, staring at the stony ceiling as it shifted in shades of gray under the moon's light.

What had happened today? For one, Rapunzel was bereft of magical hair anymore. At least, as far as she knew. She started mumbling the incantation before stopping herself. It wouldn't heal anything she was suffering from.

Gothel had died. Rapunzel had known that the only thing keeping her alive was the hair; it was hard to keep from noticing. She hadn't realized, though, that losing the hair would kill her only companion.

Wait. Gothel was only kept alive by Rapunzel's hair. Was she only appreciating Rapunzel's hair, or Rapunzel herself? It couldn't be possible, of course. That was insane, sleep-lacking drivel.

Still, when Rapunzel thought back, her governess had directed much of her affections to the top of Rapunzel's golden head, the back of her neck, the frizz atop her scalp.

Rapunzel didn't sleep much.

…

Morning thundered in unapologetically, light cutting through either entrance and interrupting any chance of sleep Rapunzel could have hoped for. She sat up grumpily. Tower.

It hadn't moved, which was maybe good and maybe bad. Rapunzel couldn't decide which she'd hoped for. She rationalized that poking around the tower itself could explain the situation a bit better. Perhaps this was all a coincidence. No doubt Gothel had just been thinking of an idyllic getaway all these years, never realizing it actually existed. Certainly made more sense than… some other options.

Not remembering what had transpired the day before, she reached behind her to grab at her hair, planning to toss it up around the hanging post at the top and climb it. That wouldn't happen anymore.

Rapunzel shrugged; nothing she could do about it. The blocks- cement, maybe?- were sturdy, but notched and eroded by time. Her hands were thin enough to get a good hold on the cracks. It wasn't high up, either. And her boots were sturdy and thick-soled, excellent for climbing, she assumed. Nothing to do but do something.

Sweat trickled down her back, dripped down her choppy haircut, slipped down the back of her leggings and off the toe of her boot. The satchel was weighing her down quite a bit, but she refused to let it stop her. Rapunzel could see the shuttered window just above her. So she trudged on, enduring the heat of a summer day's sun and the stale scent of bloody fingernails and chalky leather. Obviously the tower had been neglected for several years.

Finally Rapunzel heaved herself over the edge onto a small ledge. So. How was she going to get down? Just a small concern she hadn't thought of until it was too late.

_Don't panic._ If she could lose her hair without melting down then she could certainly deal with this. Rapunzel adjusted the strap of her satchel and wrenched open the shutters- only to find a knife pressed against her chin.

…

**Sorry, I know it's smallish. I wanted to pop a filler out quickly so I could move the plot. Expect chapter five tomorrow or the day after that!**

**-Hannah**


	5. Chapter 5

"How the _hell_ did you get up here?" A gruff man, at least seven feet tall and ruddy in both hair and skin, wielded a sharp, scratched knife against Rapunzel's chin. She winced slightly as it nicked her. The blood that dripped onto her tunic would certainly stain it. No way she'd be able to sell it for a better one after this. Still, she shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "Climbed. Was I not supposed to be able to?"

The man let the knife fall to his side and grabbed her shoulder, dragging her inside a huge circular room; it must have been the circumference of the tower. "You were right, Julien," he said. At that another man came down the stairs set against the wall. Immediately Rapunzel noticed that he was identical to the assaulter. _Brothers?_ "A little intruder, eh? What're you doin' so far from home, sweetheart?"

Rapunzel jerked away from the man clamped on her shoulder and stepped closer to the window. "I haven't got a home," she muttered to the ground. "What's that? Hear what she said, Arthur?" Julien grinned wickedly. "No home. Well, then, we'll just have to show 'er what she's missin'. Show _you_ a home," he said smoothly, syrupy like a reassurance to a skittish deer. Terrified, Rapunzel grasped at the iron handle of her pan through the satchel. Julien just widened his smug grin and advanced towards her.

It was time to start fighting; something Rapunzel had prided herself on never doing. Now, though, she wondered if maybe a few quarrels would have done her some good. The pan worked well enough, hitting Julien (Or was it Arthur? They were both advancing so quickly!) squarely in his jaw. The redhead spun back, landing on the floor and staying there. His brother put up his hands, surrendering.

"Whoa now! No need for all this fighting," a decidedly masculine voice called from behind her. Rapunzel, hypersensitive and drunk on adrenaline, lifted the pan again and spun, racing towards the source. A muscular, tanned arm reached out calmly and held her back. "Hey, hey! Don't go hitting me just for being the voice of reason, darling." Rapunzel looked up, unamused. The man didn't look as cruel as the redheads. Actually, as much as Rapunzel loathed admitting it, he was… handsome. Lithe and sculpted, with intelligent brown eyes and hair that sort of- looked nice.

Rapunzel couldn't remember if she'd ever seen a man this close before. It had always been her and Gothel, nobody else. Still, she had to get away- a stranger was a stranger was a stranger. "_Darling?_ Just show me the way out. That's all I need." The brunette grinned suavely. "A way out? No, _dear,_ that's not available till tomorrow. We try not to leave until it's necessary. Trap door's a bit rickety, you know?" She informed him that no, she did not know, but that she truly needed to get going.

"What's your rush? One-track mind like that, you'll never see anything worthwhile. So stay for a bit," he encouraged, leaning against a wall and staring her down. It made Rapunzel uncomfortable, but she wasn't sure why. "Got a name, sweetheart?"

"Er, yes. Course I have a name. Everyone has a name," she fumbled, caught off guard. "It's, um, Aurore. Aurore Leon." The stranger arched an eyebrow (attractively, Rapunzel begrudgingly admitted).

"Aurore Leon?"

"Yes, Aurore Leon."

"The names of the King and Queen of Corona."

"Yes, I suppose they are."

"Your names are their names."

"Lucky last name, and I guess the orphanage director was a monarchy fanatic." _Well, that was unplanned._

"Orphanage director?"

"I think that's what I said."

"Huh."

"Something wrong?"

"Nope, nothing. Name's Flynn Rider. Sure you're swept off your feet by now, so…" Flynn leaned in, half a smirk still stuck on his face. Appalled, Rapunzel lifted the frying pan to block her face off. She leaned halfway out, enjoying the confused look on his face as he snogged the cold iron. "One: I'm sixteen. Two: For all I know, you still want to kill me or something. Three: We literally met less than three minutes ago."

Flynn recovered immediately, shaking it off with a mock-humble shrug. "Alright, Leon. Got me there. We'll wait a year or two, then." _Disgusting._ "Wonderful," she droned unenthusiastically. Walking to the window (stepping over the unconscious bodies of the other men), she looked out the window. There was a faint glow of candlelight from the direction of Corona. It was strange and familiar. She stiffened in discomfort as she felt a hand on the small of her back. Flynn, seeing her turn around with her pan raised again, held his hands up.

"Okay, okay. I see your defenses are up. It's just that I was wondering. You look uncomfortable, Leon. Anything wrong?" His face was softer than before; not as much as a mask. Rapunzel, however, needed her mask. It was not coming off, not for concern for her fellow human beings or anything else. "No. I'm fine."

It came out more defensively than she meant to, and she regretted it as he studied her again. "So I hear there was some big hullabaloo at the palace yesterday. Something about the princess and her losing her hair. And her governess died? Rough day."

Rapunzel nodded, wondering if she could get some information from the public's viewpoint. "Yeah, I heard that, too. Came from there yesterday. Apparently she ran away, too." Flynn shifted his eyebrows, knitting them together curiously. "Tough luck. Hey, I noticed before… that symbol on your bag."

The princess looked down on the satchel, not knowing what he meant until she caught sight of it. In the bottom left corner was the royal sun symbol. Like everything else in the palace, it had been stamped. "Um. What about it?"

"How'd you get a royal satchel? That's a tough place to crack. How long you been robbing?"

The first string in a web of lies.


	6. Chapter 6

In the weeks following that first day, Rapunzel decided that _robbing_ was a very ugly way to say what she was doing. _Thieving_ was better; more romantic, less… illegal-seeming. Robbing made you think of dirty knives and valuable possessions taken for game. That was certainly not the case for Rapunzel. No, Flynn (and, she supposed, the Stabbingtons) had introduced her to the morally-acceptable alternative: thieving. According to him, thieving was different because it was based on necessity. He claimed that they never took what people would miss too dearly. (When she pointed out the leather boots that were far too expensive for his incomes, he grinned slyly; "There are exceptions to every rule," he insisted.")

Thieving was alright. Rapunzel had gotten comfortable with things she had never imagined- bars that were shady and colleagues that were shadier, knives that swiveled dangerously when thrown, bread loaves and gold rings that could be spirited away in seconds with soft fingers. It was possible, yes, that her morality was leaning a bit towards the nonexistent side of things, but as far as she was concerned, it was _necessity-based_. Necessity was what made all the difference.

…

"Alright, Leon, you win," Arthur relented, setting down his hand of cards and shaking his head ruefully. "Take the damn bracelet." Smirking, Rapunzel took the gold bangle he'd nabbed that day and slipped it on her arm. "Thank you for dinner, Art. I look forward to it," she giggled. Julien shifted his chair; it was just him and Rapunzel now. Flynn had folded long ago, insisting to the Stabbingtons that it was more fun to "watch the poker ingenue smoke your sorry asses". It was true. Rapunzel had never played it before the night before, and she'd cleaned up.

Now Julien stared her down with a teasing look. Rapunzel knew what his plan was; he'd sidetrack her with oddball ideas while slyly shifting the deck and dealing quietly. She was ready for it.

"Okay, Miss Aurore. Aurore Leon. Rory."

"Rory?" Arthur interrupted, laughing and polishing his favorite dagger in his gray tunic.

"Eh, I kind of like it, actually," Flynn argued, slipping his boots off the table and letting the front legs of his chair touch the ground. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You two are, like, infamous: The Stabbington Brothers. People barely know who _I_ am. They can't even get my damn nose right on the ransom posters."

"Wait, wait, wait," Rapunzel protested, setting her cards down. "You want to be _known?_ Hunted? Why? Isn't that terrifying to you, being chased? You'll never be able to get what you need that way."

Flynn laughed. "The more people think they know, the more afraid they are. More willing they are to hand over that ham, those shoes, to be able to get you out of the house and away from their lives. _Anyway_," he continued, "that could kind of work, Rory. Picture this: Rory and Rider, swashbuckling sibling team! The brother will steal you out of house and home while the sister charms you with a sweet chalk drawing." Julien, Arthur, and Rapunzel looked at him in confusion.

"What, you don't see it? We're both brunettes. Lovely shade, by the way, Leon. Looks just like mine. Compliments everybody, you know. And she does have a very innocent look, doesn't she?" Arthur shrugged as if he was starting to see it and Julien nudged him. "That's not at all weird to you? Using Rory like that?"

"Okay, are we all calling me Rory now-"

"Well, let's see. Is that weird to you, Rory? Increasing the chances of loot for both of us plus getting some killer publicity?"

Was that weird to her? It was true; the three of them talked often about how famous pairs did substantially better than others. Independent workers struggled. And if the weight she'd lost since joining with Flynn and the Stabbingtons meant anything, Rapunzel believed it.

"I don't see any problems with it. It helps both of us, and if fame's what you want, a catchy name like that would help. So when and where are we debuting this act?" Rapunzel asked, trying to be as nonchalant about her budding thieving career as possible.

"Does tomorrow sound good to you? At the china shop in Corona?" Flynn looked her in the eye, proposing it like a business meeting instead of the crime it would be.

"What, going for the Faberge eggs?"

"Well, what better way to go down in history than for luxurious extravagance?"

…

Flynn debriefed her on his plan as they walked through the woods. Despite the bright, expectant look of the pre-dawn, it was brisk, and Rapunzel shivered off and on. He pretended not to notice, but eventually he shrugged off his jacket and put it on her shoulders as they talked.

"What if they've got weapons?"

"You do, too, Rory. Don't be afraid to use the knife, or the pan if you're still squeamish."

"Pan, then." Flynn laughed.

"I know you're still pretty inexperienced, but you had me going with that bag for a while before you told me about finding it on the side of the road. You'll be fine! Natural actress, and natural actresses make the best thieves."

"I suppose."

"Don't kid yourself, Rory. You'll excel. Bag's empty?" Rapunzel- or rather, Rory- nodded.

"Good. You'll need the room for eggs."

…

It was late afternoon when they finally arrived in the town. Up innumerable hills they trudged. Eventually the china shop was in view, and Flynn nudged her. "Okay, you go around the front. Open up the door, _hard_. Bull in a china shop should apply here."

Swallowing her nerves, Rapunzel did as she was told. The gasps of the shopkeeper went unnoticed through the blood rushing noisily in her ears. Time moved quickly and slowly in the same instance; Rapunzel knew she was supposed to raise her pan even as she hit a lingering customer with it. A moment later Flynn stepped in.

"Hi," he lilted in the suave voice she'd first heard from him (funny how you thought of those things even in completely adrenaline-fueled moments).

The keeper, cowering in fear behind the counter, grabbed nervously at his sides and got out, "Who- who are you?"

Swiveling his dagger in a way that seemed both menacing and casual, Flynn put his right shoulder to Rapunzel's in a slouch and announced, Town Crier-fashion, "Rory and Rider!"

…

**This was a really fun chapter to write, but I think you guys'll like the next one even better- finally working in a bit of backstory/explanation for the Punz-Rory situation!**

**-Hannah**


	7. Chapter 7

**Before we get started: sorry it's both late and short. Word vomit got in the way, and then I really didn't want to touch anything. I liked it too much. About the lateness? Can't really explain that, just apologize. Hope you enjoy, anyway!**

**-Hannah**

Eggs sizzled on the stove, set underneath a display of different eggs, glimmering and glinting appealingly. Flynn, feeling lucky, had stopped in a henhouse after their heist and swiped a few legitimate eggs. Now he was sitting in the main room, regaling Art and Julien with a heavily dramatized version of their escapade, while Rapunzel cooked half of their loot (cooking being one of the few skills, aside from painting, she'd developed during her time in the palace).

"And then they took out this crazy longsword from behind the counter! Rory nearly got her ear cut off before _I_ intervened."

…

She couldn't stop wondering. Wondering at how well she'd handled her first big-deal robbery. Wondering at how she'd gotten there in the first place. Wondering how long she could keep up this ruse, wondering what they would do if they found her out, wondering at how comfortable she was, wondering, wondering, wondering.

How long had it been now? A month, a month and a half? Rapunzel had adjusted to her new situation much more quickly than she'd expected. In truth, thieves weren't so bad as everybody assumed. Arthur was intelligent, had a plan. His brother, not so much. He was fun and good with diversions. Flynn was Flynn- snarky, morally loose, funny. Confusing.

Okay, so she supposed thieves, in theory, were still really _not good_. But, again- _necessity-based_.

…

The hardest part of life right now was trying to keep up with her alter ego. Aurore Leon, sixteen-year-old orphanage escapee. According to the story she'd pieced together, Aurore had been abandoned at a Coronan orphanage just days after she'd been born. Harboring an intense hatred for the structural demands and dream-crushing philosophies of the falsified orphanage director, "Madame Hulline", Aurore had run away on her sixteenth birthday- which she claimed was the day _after_ Princess Rapunzel's- with the satchel's contents in her arms. (The satchel had been a stroke of luck, left on the side of the road somewhere along the way.)

At some point Arthur had remarked how similar she seemed to the princess, but Rapunzel had diverted that quickly by going on a tangent of how much loot they could get off her. After that, nobody had really cared. Something she'd really begun to appreciate was how little they cared about her gender. Rapunzel was a thief, same as Art or Julien or Flynn or any of the other looters she'd met (all, unsurprisingly, men).

Back at the castle, Rapunzel had been a delicate little flower simply because she had long hair. Any guards or errant maids had tiptoed around her, careful not to upset her fragile, feminine aura. Rapunzel wondered what her aura was like now. She liked to consider _swarthy_ as an option, until she thought of it too long and disliked it. Then it was _resourceful_. Never _illegal_. She tried hard not to use that.

Rapunzel wondered if someday she'd be able to come forward about who she'd really been. Been. She wasn't a princess any longer, not an heir to Corona, not a friendly ambassador to leaders who'd just as soon invade her kingdom as shake her hand. That was over, and Rapunzel knew it.

Still, people would have paid a pretty penny to get their princess back. People who tried a lot to get money- Art, Julien, and Flynn, for instance. So for now, Rapunzel was Rory. For now and probably forever.

…

"Hey, Rory, how are the eggs coming? I want you to come in soon! We need to reenact that part where the guards showed up!"


	8. Chapter 8

"You wish," Rapunzel replied, setting the empty mug on the table heavily and wiping her mouth clean. Her dining partner dropped the slab of beef he'd been gnawing and looked at her. "No, Leon, I know it. The princess went to Spain! I was told by a _very reliable source_ that she'd been sighted crossing the German-Spanish border!" He shook his hook-hand passionately, trying to drive it home. "There's no German-Spanish border, Allard. Even if there was, why on earth would a sixteen-year-old travel from Germany _to_ Spain? Spain's a mess right now."

Allard smirked teasingly, indulging, he thought, some teenage girl who thought she knew politics. "Oh? When did you turn into an international relations expert? I've got my sources, Leon. I know what's what." At that Flynn sat down, setting his own wooden plate of grease and potatoes on the table. "Another lovely night at the Snuggly Duckling, eh? How're you, Mr. Allard? Murderous and violent as always? Just a joke, just a joke," he added as an afterthought.

"I'm fine, Mr. Rider, but your little charge here is tossing around some big words. It's adorable." Flynn's grin disappeared and he glanced quickly at Rapunzel. He knew what was coming. Lightning-fast she stabbed her knife into the wood of the table, catching Allard's hook. Allard was startled and tried to pull his hook away, but it was no use. He let it go as he turned to the issue at hand.

"What's that about, sweetheart?"

"Sweetheart? Little charge? Adorable? Jesus, just gimme a bonnet and a lollipop, why don't you? I'm not some helpless baby girl, Allard! You realize I've stolen just as much as Rider here. And that I've slit a pig's throat, and run three straight miles in under twenty minutes, and held my own in the darts competition last weekend. You've got enough of a right to call me _sweetheart_ as you do Rider." She eased the knife out of the table and Allard, who'd been tugging at his hook again, went flying off his stool.

Flynn ruffled Rapunzel's hair, making her blush. "You're not making this situation any better," she muttered, but he kept at it. "Made a good point there, Rory. Just- I wouldn't make it to Allard again."

And apparently, Allard agreed, because he stood up with an infuriated grimace. "Okay, Rider, that's enough." "What? What do you mean, _Rider?_" Flynn lost all signs of emotion except for a terrified gray pallor. "She's the one who threw you off the stool! I didn't do a thing!" Rapunzel was thrown in front of him- a human shield. "What're you doing, Rider? He wants to fight _you_. I'd do it. Don't step down." He shook his head, though. Luck probably wouldn't be on his side. _His head might be, though,_ Rapunzel thought as Allard raised his hook.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey! If you've got a problem, take it up with me. Don't kill him for what I did!" Allard shrugged. "Alright. I'm not usually one to go after helpless women, but as you don't seem to see yourself as one…" He turned his attention- and his hook- to Rapunzel.

Just then the barkeep rushed out from behind his island. "Allard! What the _hell_ are you doin'? Don't go 'round messin' with Rider's stuff now! You've had enough trouble stayin' out of the Corona dungeon this week." Allard scowled but stepped back. It took a hell of a lot of willpower- nearly more than Rapunzel had- to keep from screaming at the barkeep about Rider's "stuff". What, she wasn't even a _person_ now?

Rapunzel stormed over to where Julien and Art were sitting, talking about something stupid. She sat down exasperatedly, splaying her legs and sighing. "What's the issue, Rory?" Julien asked. He seemed concerned, and leaned forward to listen, but only a second later Art put a hand over his mouth. "Shut up. Something's on its way."

A metallic clinking could be heard outside the doorway. One of the bar's attendants glimpsed through a dusty window and bit his lip. "Castle guards. Back door." Rapunzel's stomach dropped through the floor. What reason would they have to come around a dive like this? She tapped her fingertips together. "We should go, right? I mean, they're coming after thieves, aren't they?"Julien shrugged. "Do you really want to wait to find out?" They all leapt to their feet, along with most of the pub, and Rapunzel made towards a side door. Before she had gone more than two steps, however, Art had slung her over his shoulder.

Rapunzel was stunned. There was, of course, a male bias in the business of thieving- she'd known it from the start- but it was carrying over a _bit_ too much. "You can put me down, Art," she muttered angrily. "No way, Rore," he replied. "You're a slow runner. Too delicate." _Delicate?_ It just got _better_ and _better_.

...

Eventually they returned, panting, to the tower. "I just can't believe you! I could have run with you! Could have held my own just as well as Julien and Rider! Why did you do that?" Rapunzel was fuming. Nobody ever took her seriously, not random patrons, not her housemates, not even her _partner!_ What was it that made her so uninteresting and flouncy?

Art put up his hands. "Whoa, hold on. All I was doin' was makin' sure you didn' go runnin' in the wrong way or get winded or anythin'. Didn' realize you were gonna freak out about it." Rapunzel planted a hand in her hair frustratedly.

"Are any of you ever going to take me seriously?" Art nodded, Julien followed a second later. Flynn paused from looking at his nails. "Wait, that's what you're all upset about? Oh, come on, Rore. You've got to know by now that it's nothing personal. Really. It's just that you _do_ get winded easily, and we have dark clothes on, so you probably wouldn't see us. Right, guys?" Art and Julien nodded guiltily, not seeming like they meant it. "Everything better now?"

Rapunzel grimaced. They were trying to placate her, treating her like a child, just as everyone always had. "I- sure. Sure, everything's fine. Thanks for the reassurance."

…

**I am so, so, so sorry. This is incredibly late, and I definitely apologize for that. It's been a long week or so and I just… I dunno, I didn't have a lot of time to do any of this. But I'll try and get back on track again now, okay?**

**-Hannah**


	9. Chapter 9

The chair was _itchy_. Why couldn't they have said whatever they needed to with her standing up? Rory- she never went by Rapunzel anymore, not even to herself- scratched awkwardly under her nose, waiting as Julien adjusted himself and Art sat down on a stool nearby. Rider was leaning against a wall, seeming only half-into the conversation.

Julien leaned forward, tenting his fingers and placing his elbows on his knees. "Here's the deal, Rore. You've been here a while."

"Almost two years, yeah," Rory cut in, snorting.

"Almost two years. Well, I've been thinkin' it through, and I've decided somethin'."

Rory scratched her head, leaning to scuff something brown off her boot with the other hand. "What's that?"

"There's gonna be a very big heist opportunity in the next few weeks or so. This would be the summer the princess turned eighteen, right?"

"Yes," Rory replied tentatively, not liking the direction this conversation was going in. Unfortunately, she couldn't see a way to steer it back to safety. _Let it run its course_, she advised herself. They almost never got suspicious of anything.

"Alright. So we thought, considering how well you and Rider were doin', we'd all four of us make the birthday party the event of the year."

"You can't very well do that any more than they've done it before," Rider interjected. It was true; last year, it had been an extravaganza. The four of them had gone into Corona for the day, curious as to what it would be like and hopeful that there would be some collectors' memorabilia that would be worth a mint in time. The commemorative _Where Did Rapunzel Go?_ plates and _Flower of Corona_ vases were ugly as hell; still, dinner was good when they bargained with them.

Julien nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, but this year they're gonna display the princess's crown in the chapel. Heavily guarded and not open to the general public, but imagine what we could get with even a crystal off the side 'a that thing!"

There was a collective intake of breath. It was true. Art, Julien, and Rider knew vaguely what the crown looked like, with all its opulent jewels and sparkling gold. But Rory knew full well what they could do with it. God, even as a toddler she'd been told to never let it out of her sight. Half the Coronian jewels were jammed onto the thing.

One thing was bothering her, though. "Are you- wait, you are suggesting that we lift it, right?" Julien looked at her excitedly. "Whaddaya think? The heist of the decade, coupled with the tragic story 'a the lost princess comin' of age, we'd go down in history, _comfortably_."

Art and Rider were already on their feet, pulling down knives and cantines from behind paintings, under chairs, the flipside of a step. "There're only a few weeks, then! When's Princess's birthday? Rore, you know this one, right? You were the monarchy freak, remember." Art laughed at his own joke while Rory scowled. "Funny. Well, if I still remember-" and it was hard, after all this time, to remember a birthday she'd changed- "Rapunzel's birthday is the day before mine, so… August sixth?"

Snapping his fingers and pushing himself off the stool he'd sat in, Julien grinned. "Nice birthday present, 'specially considerin' you're comin' of age, too." That's right. Rory had forgotten it was important, what with all the escapades she and Rider had been doing recently.

"Good things are happenin', Rore. Your first major heist, your big birthday, fame, fortune- it's all comin' together!" Julien grabbed Art's elbow, mumbling something about packing the nonperishables, and pulled him into the kitchen.

And then it was just Rory and Rider. His smirk broke into a genuine grin and he pulled her up from her seat, grabbing her in a tight hug. "This is really happening," he laughed into her hair (frankly she was surprised his neck could bend so low). They stayed like that for a moment, just swaying comfortably, before Rory lifted her head to look him in the eye. "Why're _you_ so excited? It's just another job, isn't it?"

Rider grinned again and shook his head lightly. "Not at all. No, for one thing, this'll really put us in the books." Rory snorted. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that we're pretty infamous already."

Rider groaned jokingly. "Yeah, but people'll remember this long after we're gone and everyone else is, too. And we'll be in the green for the rest of our lives with this! It's just- everything we could've wanted, right?"

Even if she'd wanted to disagree, Rory couldn't have. It was true. They'd talked about this- lightly- on the road, running from the authorities, splitting up their hauls. All they'd wanted was some security, and if they could pull this off, they'd get it.

"Okay, I guess you're right about this one. Just hope we get it alright." Rory sighed and set her head against Rider's chest, still a little concerned about the whole thing. Stealing at her old home? _The hair will be all the disguise you need,_ she reassured herself. As if he could hear her thoughts, Rider lifted her chin up. "It'll be fine, Rore. Really." He leaned in, closing his eyes, only to kiss Rory's hand.

"Hey- there are still two weeks, Rider. Until then, it's creepy."

…

**Alright! Somebody mentioned a lack of New Dream, and to be honest, I missed it too, so here's a little fast-forward action to get this ship afloat! Buckle your seatbelts, folks!**

**-Hannah**


	10. Chapter 10

_They tried to cook._ At first, Rory had gotten up in fear of a house fire (tower fire?), but on coming down the stairs from her (blessedly) own room, she discovered something far worse. "Oh my _God_. What happened here?"

Julien was the first to answer her. "Hey, happy birthday, Rore! Sorry about the, um… everything. We attempted pancakes."

She leaned against the doorway, grinning and folding her arms across her tiny chest. "I can see. They _are_ the charred clumps on the stove, right?"

"...Maybe," Art replied, shrugging. Rider came through the trapdoor in the floor at that moment. Brushing a bit of dust off his shoulder, he lit up at the sight of Rory. "Hey! I was just scouting out ol' Corona. Security's tight, but we'll be fine," he announced, hugging her with one arm from behind.

Julien made a vomiting noise and pointed a finger into his mouth. "Rider, she turned eighteen six hours ago. Think you could lay off the cutesy shit for a bit? We've got stuff to do."

"So says the man making pancakes," Rider retorted, but he dropped his arm and turned bright red.

Rory pushed her short hair back and slipped a tunic over her ratty nightshirt (she'd stopped caring long ago what they saw her in). "Alright, then. So if we're going to get there to nab the crown during the king and queen's sappy little speech," Rory said, gnawing her lip, after all this time, at such a rude mention of her mother and father, "we need to go _soon_." The sun was already showing its top over the trees outside the clearing.

Immediately they got to work, strapping daggers to belts and thighs (although it took a couple extra minutes to wipe the blood off), tugging boots on, packing maps and cantines and rope. Nerves were abounding; Rory even saw Art, who usually relished opportunities to thieve and cavort, tapping his fingers against his thigh stiffly.

The four of them stood by the sole window of the tower, staring into the distance where they could just barely see the spires of Corona's tower. "We'll be fine," Rider declared, averting his eyes from the group. Julien shrugged, appearing calmer than they all knew he felt, and grabbed the rope they'd fixed outside a few months before. "See you down there."

First Julien, then Art. Rider grabbed the rope next, but before he leaned his full weight out the window, he stepped back quickly.

"Rory?"

"Rider?"

"So. You're eighteen?"

"You're twenty-six. Congrats, you've got the ages down."

"Wait, wait. Is it still creepy?"

"Nope, not really."

Rider grinned widely and leaned out the window. "Hey, we'll be right down!" he shouted. Art and Julien scowled before leaning against the tower. Turning back to Rory, he set his satchel down. "I've been waiting a while to do this, you know." She grinned. "Really? Never knew."

With that, he laced an arm around her waist, pinning them together, and set his other hand against her cheek. They leaned together, impacting _just_ so. The grins matched, and neither person lost theirs when they finally pulled apart. Rider was uncharacteristically flushed. "That... was for luck."

Rory shook her head. "No, this one is."

…

"And it doesn't creep you out at all." Rory shrugged as Art shuddered. "That's like- that's like kissing your _brother_, Rory."

Rory smirked and lifted an eyebrow lazily. "I haven't got any brothers, Arty." Flinching at his nickname, Art shoved her lightly. "You've got the three of us," he disagreed, gesturing to himself and then further down the bridge to Rider and Julien. As if cued, they stopped and turned, waiting for the other two to catch up.

"Here's the plan," Julien said, happy to be leading. "Walk as nonchalantly as possible. If you act out of the norm, people will treat you out of the norm." Rider laughed, biting his bottom lip. "So people _aren't_ going to recognize the wanted criminals?"

Art chuckled joylessly. "It's a holiday. They couldn't see us if we were paraded down the street in shackles." As much as they wanted to laugh and disagree, none of them could. They'd seen how oblivious people were when they wanted to be.

And then they were in Corona. The sight took Rory's breath away. Had the castle been that _big_ before? She was in Corona frequently, lifting bread, running from guards, doing some minor thieving, but it was always under the impression that it would be a quick, fifteen-minutes-at-the-most run through the expensive side of town. Never had she thought she'd be going back to the castle.

Was her chest tightening, or did she just feel that? Rory kept walking with the group, long, confident strides, but there was nothing she wanted to do less. Rider tapped her hand, a comforting gesture he'd adopted long ago. She tore her hand away tersely and he looked at her, concerned. "It's nothing," she mouthed.

God, it just got worse. Rory's head was pounding. The group looked farther away than they had a moment before. Wanting to catch up, she took a bounding step, only to be cut off by an old woman. Dark black hair, curlier than a sheep's coat, covered most of her profile, but Rory could see intelligent brown eyes through the curtain. There was a familiar look to her that Rory hated. "You're very pretty," the woman said. The compliment grated on Rory's nerves, and she adjusted her belt to let a little more of her dagger show.

The woman noticed. "Ah. Running 'round with some bad crowds, eh? Watch out for yourself." She lifted a hand, stroked Rory's cheek. Bile rose in the back of Rory's throat.

"I know what I'm doing," Rory spat. The woman lifted her hands in surrender, acting as though Rory had accused her of murder.

"Never said you did, dear. You look like the lost princess, you know." Now Rory was biting her lip so hard blood was beading on the bottom one.

Rider came up behind her and grabbed her shoulder. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?" he growled at the woman. Although she raised her hands again, seeming for all the world an innocent elderly woman, Rider didn't see it. "Knock it off."

All Rory could do was stutter. Eventually she just sighed, leaning her head back on Rider's chest, unnerved. "Look," he said, turning her around to face him, "I don't know what that was, or why you're shaking, or really anything about what just happened, but it's done now. Come on, let's go get a crown."

…

The rope tightened a bit more around Rory's waist as she let her other foot leave the glass-paneled roof. "Tell me again why _I'm_ the one going down there," she whispered to the guys above her.

"Because Jules or I would snap the rope, and do you honestly expect Rider to stay focused enough to get one crown?" Art listed. Valid arguments. "Okay, no, not really."

"Then down you go."

Corona's Royal Chapel was enormous, with a vaulted glass ceiling and a light, airy feeling, but never had she noticed it as much as when she was being lowered into it. Surprisingly, the guards had been kept outside its doors; apparently they didn't expect anyone to be able to infiltrate the room. The roof hadn't been considered, she supposed.

Rory's boots had just touched the soft carpet of the altar when she heard footsteps outside. "Rore!" Julien hissed. "Get the crown, _now!_" Rory nodded and looped the crown over her shoulder, locking it in place over her satchel.

"-really isn't the time to do this!" It was a voice Rory recognized, despite having heard it only a handful of times in her life. You didn't forget your father's voice.

Rory stood stock still as he followed her hysterical mother in. Maybe they would be too distracted by each other to catch their daughter standing there. "I just- it's been two _years_, Leon. How long are we going to have to act like she could still be out there? I feel like I'm lying to the entire kingdom." Try as she might, Rory couldn't hear her father's response. They were too far away and, to her horror, the others were whispering above her.

"What are we supposed to do?"

"-can't leave her there."

"She's got the crown!"

"Just stay there a little longer, Rore."

"-pull it up really fast."

Rory was fully engrossed in their melodrama- so much so that she didn't even notice when the other conversation stopped. Eventually, however, nobody was talking anymore.

She'd been spotted. The king and queen stumbled tentatively towards their daughter, hardly believing what was happening. "Are you-" Aurore murmured softly, not finishing the thought. "Should we get the guards?" Leon asked. Disgusted, Aurore smacked him. It was an unfinished side of her, something suppressed and hidden for all the time Rory had known her.

"That's your daughter." It was over. Rory didn't know what was going to happen, but everything had changed. Julien and Art were muttering to each other while Rider just stood there. His expression was unreadable.

Leon stepped forward, shoulders hunched and hands outstretched. "It's- it's you. Rapunzel? Please, come here. There's a kingdom waiting for you. I- uh, _we're_ waiting for you." Was she sick, or was there a knife twisting in her stomach? Maybe both? How could he expect her to drop everything in a moment? Didn't the sight of her, healthy, glowing, happy, make him content enough?

Anger, the hard kind she felt in her chest that probably had no legitimate reason for existing, pulsed through Rory's veins. She looked up and tugged on the rope. "Let's go," she ordered, praying they would take her. Hoping they wouldn't forsake her now that they knew who she was.

Her feet began to lift off the ground and she smirked. This was where she wanted to be. If it was the wrong path, so be it. Rory had seen the light, and it turned out to be a lantern at the Snuggly Duckling. It was rebellious, and bad, and everything she'd been missing.

The queen disagreed. She raced forward, grabbing Rory's hand, and _begged_. "Please. Don't go. Or at least- just don't do this. Give me the crown, Rapunzel." _Like hell._

"I need to eat, Mumsy. Sorry!" Rory ripped her hand away and let herself be lifted up. Her parents cowered under her, a view that disturbed Rory- and made her feel a kind of power she never had before.

She heard one last sentiment from her parents before she reached the ceiling. "You're going to be a wanted fugitive, Rapunzel."

Rory grinned widely and stepped onto the glass. Leaning down so they could see her face, she replied, "Ever hear of Rory and Rider? I'm infamous, Daddy dearest."

…

**AHHH THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE! I hope you guys love this one as much as I did- big milestone, number ten! Enjoy!**

**-Hannah**


	11. Chapter 11

Rory had a laundry list of complaints, fears, and worries running through her head as the group trudged silently through Corona.

One: her parents had given them a head start. Why? They owed her nothing; she owed even less. At this point in a heist she would usually be running from guards, getting scraped by swords' points. A lack of that made her uneasy.

Two: Rider hadn't said a word. Of course, neither had Julien or Art, but that she understood. They preferred to keep silent until they were in the clear. Rider, on the other hand, was always raucous, making jokes and running around the entire way back. Her identity must have been a surprise- how couldn't it have been?- but this scared her.

Three: She knew the look in Art and Julien's eyes. Cunning, analytical: it was the look they got when they planned a complicated heist.

…

"Sit down, Rory," Julien said quietly. Not wanting to make any problems, she did so. The girl put her hands in her lap, twisting her pointer and thumb into a circle and grabbing the index finger of her other hand with it- a nervous habit she'd been trying to quit.

Art, standing next to Rory, put a hand on her shoulder. Rory assumed he was attempting to comfort her, but it felt more like he was keeping her seated. "We have to talk, y'know," Julien said. Unable to look him in the eye, Rory tilted her head down to nod.

"You lied."

"I had to. And you taught me how to do it _well_."

"Rory, you're the _princess of Corona_. Please tell me you know what we have to do."

Rider bit his lip and shifted his weight from his place against the doorframe. What they had to do was obvious. Rory sniffed and nodded, disgusted by the tears that had begun to well up. It was her fate; she hadn't been careful enough. She should have watched that nobody came in. It was Rory's fault that she was doomed.

Julien patted her hands. With a sad smile, he pulled her to her feet. They embraced stiffly, and Julien leaned close to her ear. "I really am sorry, Rore. But they'll pay nicely for a princess. Look, we'll give you a day's start, but after that? I just- don't let us see you."

Cold- frigid- fear was replacing the blood in Rory's veins. Standing up, feeling like she was in a dream, like the past two years hadn't happened at all, she walked numbly to the spot against the wall where she'd put her bag. _At the very least_, she thought with a mournful smile, _they forgot I have the crown._

The rope stung her hands as she raced down the tower's side. Nobody looked out the window, not even Rider, and that may have hurt worse. Although there were tears streaking her freckled cheeks, Rory took a shaky step forward. Another. Another. Hours passed, she thought. And yet she was only at the edge of the clearing.

There was no way she could go further. Rory wasn't thinking clearly; terror and tears and confusion were ripping up her lungs. _Sit_. The satchel hit the ground with a thud and she followed a moment later. Her legs automatically curled up against her chest and she found herself running hands through her hair.

Nothing was right. The entire situation was such a damn mess. A throbbing headache made its way to Rory's temples, and she laid her head against her folded arms. Just a second, just a moment, to clear her head, and then she'd get up and leave this behind.

…

There was a hand on her shoulder. With a gasp Rory leapt to her feet, unaware of who the person was, but prepared, knife already in front of her. "I get a day!" she shrieked. They had to play fair! They had to give her the day!

Another hand pushed strands of hair from her face. Rory blinked several times before she saw who it was. Rider. "I get a day," she said again, nudging the knife tentatively in the space between them. Rider put a hand on the back of his neck and sighed. "You get a day. From Julien and Art."

"What, you're just going to come after me when you feel like it?"

"No, I- hey, hey, hey, easy with the knife!"

"I haven't touched you yet."

"Really?" Rider showed her his wrist, where a bead of blood was gathering. Rory hadn't realized she was that close.

"Well, now you know what I'll do. If you come any closer, I mean." In the back of her mind Rory was congratulating herself for being able to push him away so easily. She'd expected to cry if she saw him again.

Rider didn't seem as concerned as she'd hoped he'd be. Surprisingly, she caught herself feeling disappointed, but Rider stepped closer, and then she didn't think about anything but evading him. Rory ducked under his arm and whirled around, keeping the knife trained on him the entire time.

"Please- don't take me back there. I don't want to go back. Just let me go!"

Sighing, Rider ran a hand through his hair. "Rory, I have no desire to turn you in. They'd probably nab me, too. What I _do_ want to do, however, is help you. We've been together for a while now, you know? Hate to say it, but I'm attached to you, Rore. And, quite frankly, you're the one with the crown."

Rory sniffled and wiped off a tear she hadn't realized was on her cheek. As much as she despised admitting it, it felt good to have somebody assisting her. Rory hadn't expected to have anybody on her side. She was quickly realizing how differently this whole expulsion was playing out in contrast to the way she'd imagined it. Odd how these things worked, she mused.

Apparently Rider was waiting for a solid response before continuing on with his speech. His body language was laughably transparent; hands shoved in pockets, cheeks flushed, foot tapping and scratching at the back of his leg. It was taking a considerable amount of self-control to not burst out laughing (which scared Rory before she realized she was still in shock).

"Can't argue with logic, I guess. What do we do now, Rider?" Rory sat down on the ground again, sheathing her knife. A second later Rider took his spot next to her. Running a comforting hand across her shoulders, he sighed. "I really don't know. Don't suppose you want to try out the domestic life? Get a house, settle down, make pies and have babies?" Rory almost punched him before she caught the smirk on his face. "Funny."

Rider laughed and pulled Rory a little closer. "Alright, so we're not losing our coolness." Grinning, Rory pushed herself off his chest to look him in the eye. "You were cool?"

"Yes, I was, twerp."

"Twerp? Nice way to talk to the person with the means to keep you alive."

Rider put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Guess we should find somewhere else to go, though."

It was true- there was no way they could stay anywhere near Corona. Hell, Germany was probably off-limits in its entirety. The thought terrified Rory. She felt like she'd just gotten a home, and now it was being ripped away from her.

But then again, how many things had she'd overcome in the past two years that she'd never expected to be comfortable with? She'd sworn like a sailor, stolen food, jewelry, money, crowns, stabbed people (never fatally, she was pretty sure), and started to develop a taste for hard alcohol. Completely out of character for the timid princess she'd been before all this.

That wasn't who she was now; it wasn't who she'd ever been. Maybe this was all for the best. The past two years had been a transition phase, and now her life, her real life, was going to begin. The thought comforted Rory, enough to

"I think I'm ready to go, Rider."

"Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything. Come on, let's make some distance before it's dark."

…

**Ack. It hurt to write this. Hope it hurt to read it (in the best way possible)!**

**-Hannah**


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